


a life in deaths

by gone_girl



Series: the last great pirate king [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Treasure Island Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gone_girl/pseuds/gone_girl
Summary: Stories will be told, over and over. But kings and queens age, and the crown must fall to someone.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw & Madi, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Madi/original character
Series: the last great pirate king [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794574
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	1. 1738

Outside, the sun is setting. Inside, Abena ponders on her home.

It is a home she loves, to be sure. It is, in fact, the only home she has ever known. For what seems like the endless six years of her life, it has been as it is, a structure of wood, open enough to let the spare breeze in and closed enough to keep the hot rain out. Kofi, coming in and out to fetch Mama, Baba’s laughter high on the heavy air, and always, Grandma sitting in the big chair in the main room. The big chair in the main room belongs to Grandma, the pair of them a fixture of this house. It has always been a social place for Grandma, a place to host her friends or Mama’s advisors, a place where the four of them will gather in the night to eat, a place where Abena will sit fidgeting on the floor listening to Grandma tell her stories. As long as Abena can remember, which to her seems to be forever, this is what her home has been.

Now, with the big chair empty, Abena has the strange thought that this home, changed as it is, cannot be the same place that has existed forever. Certainly, it must be different, for she has never seen Thomas or Uncle James here before, stark and pale against the dark wood of the house. 

No, Abena thinks. This is not right. 

“When is Mama coming home?” she asks. “Where’s Baba? Where’s Grandma?”

They are eating the evening meal together, and this too is wrong, all wrong without Baba making jokes and Mama hugging her close, one-armed, making up for all the distance of the daytime.

“Your grandmother is ill,” Thomas says, very gently. “The doctors are taking care of her, and your parents are staying with her while she recovers.”

And this makes no sense to Abena, none at all. She stares at the bowl in the center of the table, stares down at the bread in her hands, and suddenly has no stomach for the food.

“Why can’t I be there?” she says. Thomas pushes the bowl towards her, encouraging her to eat. In defiance, she bites into her bread without using it to scoop up food first, chewing it dry. Tears are threatening, and she wills them not to fall, but it doesn’t work.

“Abena.” Uncle James is looking at her somberly, and this, at least calms her. If Uncle James can look at her with the same patience and solemnity as always, then perhaps not everything is different. “Would you like to go see your grandmother?”

“James-” Thomas starts, but Abena interrupts him.

“Yes,” she says, quickly. “Yes.”

“Eat,” Uncle James says. “And then we will go see her.”

Slowly, Abena tears off a piece of bread. She takes only a little food, but she takes it. They eat together, the three of them, from the big bowl, in silence. The familiarity of this, too, settles her. How often has Mama brought her to stay with Thomas and Uncle James? How often has mealtime with them been quiet, so different from the talkative cheer of Abena’s home? 

It is a routine. Not hers, maybe, but theirs. A home not her own, but still familiar and loving.

The sun has set by the time they finish, and as Abena is getting up to help clean up after the meal, Thomas puts his big hand on her shoulder.

“Go, child,” he says. “Don’t worry. It will be clean when you come home.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. In a moment, Abena darts to the door, bouncing on the balls of her feet and waiting for Uncle James to get to his.

“Come on,” she calls. “Grandma is waiting for us!”

Uncle James, laboriously, stands up. Even from across the room, Abena can hear his joints pop as he straightens. Thomas murmurs something in his ear that Abena doesn’t hear. Uncle James shakes his head and says something back. Thomas kisses Uncle James’ temple, and they grasp one another’s hands briefly, tightly, before Uncle James follows Abena to the door.

“Lead the way,” he says, offering his hand to her. Abena takes it, and together they walk out into the night.

Her island has changed. Most evenings see the lanes of her community lined with burning torches and bonfires, clusters of people talking and shouting late into the night. The lights burn, as they always do, but there is quiet now. It’s not the quiet of Uncle James and Thomas, not the presence of comfort. Rather, it is a lack, where before there existed noise and camaraderie.

Uncle James squeezes her hand. Abena grips his tightly, feeling sweat run down her wrist.

When they come to the low building that houses the sick, Baba is standing outside, talking to someone. In the firelight, when Baba turns to look at her, he seems so sad.

“Go inside with Kaihemba,” Baba murmurs. He doesn’t question Abena’s presence here, but he doesn’t come inside with her either, lingering outside the doorway with Uncle James.

Kaihemba takes her hand, and Abena lets him lead her into the dark, open space. She has always been a little bit intimidated by Kaihemba, although he’s a perfectly sweet man, short and old and kind. But he keeps mostly to this sick bay, a place where Abena has never been before.

She is suddenly uncertain about this pilgrimage. In the far corner, she can see Mama’s silhouette, hunched over a bed.

But it is, of course, too late to turn back. Kaihemba leaves her standing behind Mama. Abena can hear his footsteps retreat.

“Mama?” Abena asks, timidly. She has always taken great care not to bother her mother too much. Mama is a very important and powerful woman, of which Abena is forever mindful. But Mama doesn’t look powerful now. In the low lamplight, the gray hairs at her temples seem to shine a little brighter against the deep black of her locs, and her eyes, usually wide and alert, are half-closed.

“Sweetheart.” Mama looks at her with what seems like great difficulty. There is a scar on her left cheek. This, too, has always been friendly and familiar, but it seems much deeper now, worn into her face with age.

“Is Grandma okay?” Abena sinks down to sit next to Mama, and Mama shifts to accommodate her. Her arm comes to settle around Abena’s shoulders, and Abena nestles into her. Together, they look at Grandma. She looks strangely small without her head wrapping, her short hair white, the sharp lines of her face softened in sleep.

“No,” Mama says softly.

“Why?” Abena asks.

“I don’t know,” Mama admits.

Abena is speechless. She has never known Mama not to have an answer, never in all her life. The shock is so vivid that she doesn’t speak anymore, just sits under Mama’s strong arm and watches Grandma sleep. Abena doesn’t know when her eyes droop shut.

When she wakes, it’s morning. Someone has carried her home. She emerges from her bed to find Mama, Baba, Uncle James, and Thomas, sitting and talking in the main room. No one is sitting in the big chair.

“I want to go see Grandma,” Abena announces.

“No good morning for your poor baba?” With an aggrieved sigh, Baba puts a hand on his heart. Abena frowns back at him, unimpressed. Thomas looks like he is trying not to laugh.

“Mama,” Abena says plaintively.

Mama looks up from her breakfast. “Say good morning to your poor baba,” she says.

With all the contempt Abena can muster, she turns to look at Baba. “Good morning.”

Baba smiles. “Good morning, habibti,” he says. “Come.”

Abena glances once more at Mama, but she’s busy eating, her head tilted towards Uncle James as he speaks quietly in her ear. So Abena comes forward and sinks into Baba’s lap, feels the familiar weight of his arms settle around her as he reaches forward to pull forward a plate of food.

“Eat, ya mama,” he says, kissing the top of her head.

Abena wants to protest, but she catches Mama’s gaze. Mama raises her eyebrows at her, and Abena begins to eat without another word.

The adults talk around her, and Abena tries to pay attention, but it’s hard to follow. She decides to focus on finishing the leftover food, instead. Still, there’s a question crystallizing in her head, one that’s been taking shape since Uncle James and Thomas, for the first time, stepped foot on Abena’s island yesterday morning.

“Why are you here?” she asks, directing this question at Uncle James. He, of all the grown ups, has always spoken frankly to her. 

But this seems to have changed. Uncle James looks at Mama before he speaks. She inclines her head, and Uncle James sighs. “We’re here to keep you and your mother company,” he says.

They have never done that before, Abena wants to say, but before she gets the chance, Mama is standing up.

“I have much to do today,” she says. “Mahmoud, will you finish making arrangements with Kaihemba?”

“Yes, my love.” Baba shifts, putting his hand on Abena’s back. “Go say goodbye to your mother.”

Abena doesn’t want to say goodbye. She wants to ask questions. She wants to know why her home has changed so thoroughly, wants to know why Grandma’s chair has stood empty all week, why Uncle James should come to keep them company when his home is far away. But no one seems to care much what she wants. Mama and Baba are leaving, and Uncle James and Thomas are cleaning up breakfast and preparing for a day like yesterday, a day keeping Abena inside and entertained. Abena has no desire to be entertained.

On pretense of going to relieve herself, Abena slips out the door. She will go see Grandma, and nobody in the world is going to stop her.

Abena is very familiar with her community, and it isn’t hard to make her way through it. What is strange is that she has to lower her eyes now, trying not to be noticed for fear someone will tell her parents. She has never had to hide before, and she isn’t sure how well she’s doing.

Baba and Kaihemba are sitting outside the infirmary again today, so Abena gives the front deck a wide berth. Instead, she creeps in through the back.

The sick bay seems a little less intimidating during the day, with sunlight leaking in and healers bustling around, but it’s still strangely, unpleasantly quiet. Abena crawls under the beds until she reaches Grandma’s.

Grandma is still sleeping, which seems impossible. Abena pokes her side. When this elicits no reaction, Abena shakes her arm.

“Grandma,” she whispers. “Wake up!”

Finally, Grandma’s eyes flutter open. She seems tired, although she has been sleeping for a long time.

“Abena,” she breathes. A smile crosses her weary face. “Where is your mother?”

“I don’t know.” Abena sits back on her heels, still holding on to Grandma’s thin wrist. “When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know if I am,” Grandma says gently.

Frustration wells up in her so suddenly she wants to cry. “What does that mean?” she asks. “I need you to come home. It’s not right without you.”

Grandma moves her hand to take Abena’s. Her palm feels cool and papery dry. “Things are going to change,” she says softly. “But they always do, child. You will have to learn to take it as it comes.”

“I don’t want to,” Abena says, blinking back tears. “I don’t want it to change. I want you to come home.”

“Come here, child.” 

Obediently, Abena crawls into bed and curls into Grandma. For a few minutes, she listens to Grandma breathe, shallow and rattling. It sounds painful. Abena sits up to look at Grandma, and she realizes Grandma has fallen asleep again. 

Carefully, Abena disentangles herself from Grandma and stands up. She slips quietly out the back and goes home.

“Long bathroom break,” Thomas says, smiling at her. “Come play chess with me, my dear.”

Abena follows him quietly, and for the day, she lets herself be kept inside and entertained.

Grandma will never come home again. Baba tells her this carefully, kneeling so they are eye level, as though Abena doesn’t know already. She looks past him to see Mama leaning against Uncle James, her face pressed into his shoulder, his arms around her. She looks back at Baba, whose eyes are rimmed with unshed tears. The big chair in the main room remains empty. Its emptiness is a shuddering, inalterable fact of her new home.

The funeral happens in the night. Mama speaks without a tremor in her voice, her words strong and carrying, Baba at her back. Abena is holding Uncle James’ hand so tightly she thinks she must be hurting him, but he hasn’t shaken her off yet, and so she holds on.

The flames stretch high, and from Abena’s small perspective, it seems that the entire night sky has been set ablaze. Any moment now, she thinks, the sky will give out like a roof on fire, crashing down to destroy what’s left of this home. She can see Mama past the flickering light, her eyes bright but her expression dead. Baba places a comforting hand on Mama’s shoulder, but Mama may as well be made of stone for all she reacts.

Abena reaches up for Uncle James, and without having to say anything, he knows to pick her up. Abena rests her cheek against his shoulder, staring behind him at all the people who have gathered for the cremation.

“I want to go home,” she says. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. Abena feels the question more than hears it, the rumble of his voice close against her body.

“Yes,” she answers, with certainty.

“Okay,” Uncle James says, as if it’s simple as that. He turns around and begins to walk. Abena watches the crowd of people become farther away, and soon enough, she can no longer see them.

From the house, only the pyre is visible, orange light glowing faintly against the walls.


	2. 1744

Most days, Thomas walks. He carries wares into town, a chair or a cradle, a basket of vegetables, the biggest oranges from the tree. He’s getting old now, and so he has built himself a wagon to push along the worn path.

In the few days Abena has been here, Thomas has been too weak to even push the wagon. This morning, he could not get out of bed.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Thomas says. His pale face has taken on a yellow cast, and the sheets beneath him are damp with sweat. “This wasn’t how your visit was supposed to go.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Abena says, feeling quite useless. “Just get better.”

Thomas smiles. “God willing.”

Uncle James has not moved from where he sits all morning, bent over Thomas’ hand like he cannot bear to ever let it go again. It’s not until Thomas withdraws his hand that Uncle James looks up, his eyes red and burning.

Strange, Abena thinks. Uncle James has always been gaunt, but he has never looked quite so haunted.

“We’re hungry, darling,” Thomas says. His voice, even raspy with the way he’s been coughing for days, has a wonderfully familiar humor to it. “Don’t tell me you’ll let a child and an invalid starve.”

A shadow seems to have taken hold of Uncle James, something chilling, something Abena has never once seen on her smiling uncle’s face. She feels that they all stand on the edge in that single moment of silence, as if they are on the brink of losing something that Abena has never thought could be lost.

Then it ends. Uncle James softens. The lines around his eyes and mouth become gentle. He says, “Of course not.” He presses a kiss to Thomas’ forehead, puts a hand on Abena’s shoulder, and retreats into the main room.

“As for you,” Thomas says, mustering a smile, “why don’t you bring that chessboard over here? Let’s see if you’ve gotten any better since last time you were here.”

For all his ribbing, Abena usually puts up a good fight, and even wins respectably often. Today is, unfortunately, not one of those times, and by the time Uncle James brings a meal into the bedroom, Abena is staring in frustration at the board.

“It’s checkmate, my dear,” Thomas says. He sounds tired, but cheerful too, knocking over her king with one finger.

“No it’s not,” Abena says stubbornly, righting her king. “I’m not gonna lose.”

“Move the board, Abena,” Uncle James says brusquely. “You lost.”

Abena scowls, but does as she’s told so that Uncle James can set down the tray of food.

“Thank you, darling,” Thomas says. With effort, he pulls himself up to sit, waving away Uncle James where he hovers next to him. “For God’s sake, James, I can sit up on my own.”

Uncle James doesn’t say anything, just sits down and tears the loaf of bread into three big pieces.

Abena takes her piece and looks up at Thomas, who has put down his own bread. He smiles. “Count yourself lucky you weren’t playing James,” he says. “I’ve never had quite so embarrassing a loss.”

Uncle James grunts wordlessly, and Thomas winks at Abena. She giggles. “Never?” she asks.

Thomas’ smile fades just slightly. “Not at chess.”

After they eat, Uncle James has to go to work, to do all the chores that usually take two people to do. Abena follows him outside to where he’s picking oranges from the tree and offers to help.

“No,” he says. “Stay with Thomas. I’ll be home late, so keep him company.”

“But if I came with you you wouldn’t be home late,” Abena objects. “And anyway, is picking oranges that important? Shouldn’t you be doing other things first?”

Uncle James looks at her, his face unreadable. “Thomas loves this tree,” he says finally. He holds out the basket of oranges. “He eats like a bird when he takes ill, but he’ll eat these all day.”

Abena takes the basket slowly, feeling that she has been given a task of utmost importance. Uncle James has a strange kind of intensity to him, one she’s never seen before. She nods.

“All right,” she says.

So Abena sits at Thomas’ bedside all day. It’s true, she realizes. Thomas picked at their late breakfast, but when she peels the oranges and offers him pieces, he takes them happily.

They play games: chess, cards, draughts. Thomas teaches Abena all the games he knows; it’s why she likes spending time with him so much. Some of the games she wins quite easily, although she loses to him twice more at chess.

“I think you’ll have to learn to pick your battles,” Thomas says, his voice full of laughter. “Or at least count your losses.”

Abena flicks an orange peel at him. “I can count losses fine,” she says. “You lost piquet four times.”

“So I did,” Thomas says, sounding almost surprised to recall this. “What about noddy?”

Abena laughs. “You lost twice!”

“And so did you,” Thomas counters. “Deal the cards and we shall break that tie, my dear.”

She loses. But this loss is nothing at all, because the moment Thomas turns his winning card, he convulses oddly and then turns away to vomit all over the bed.

Abena screams. It’s in part because of revulsion, but she also cannot stand the idea of running for help, leaving Thomas to slump over into his own sick, leaving something horrible to happen in her absence. Uncle James comes skidding into the bedroom, gloves still on and smeared with dirt from the garden, his eyes widening at the sight.

After that, they cannot pull a single coherent word from Thomas. Uncle James snaps into a role Abena has never seen in her life, barking and curt as he orders her to help him clean up. Abena is too frightened, both by Uncle James and by Thomas, to question anything she’s told to do. She throws the stinking bedclothes outside and replaces them, watches Thomas sit in the tub with his head lolling back, feels fever burning off of sick, jaundiced skin. She helps Uncle James haul water for a bath. She watches Uncle James carefully wash the vomit from Thomas’ face. She cannot fathom how an hour ago, the biggest loss worrying her was a card game.

Abena has to help prepare the evening meal. She isn’t very good at it, despite Uncle James’ terse instructions. She keeps cutting all the vegetables in different sizes, and not realizing her mistake until she’s left with a pile of unevenly chopped vegetables. Staring at the food, Abena feels a sick dread in her stomach, knowing that Uncle James is going to come back from caring for his grievously ill partner to find that Abena has not even made things easier on him.

“Abena?”

She knows she’s going to cry. It’s embarrassing and awful and she’s trying so hard to resist it, so hard to be strong like Mama, strong like Uncle James, but it’s a losing fight. Abena turns to look at Uncle James with tears already streaming down her face. They stand there for a moment, old man and girl child, each already grieving, staring at one another.

“I didn’t do it right,” Abena says, sniffling and trying desperately to recover her dignity. Uncle James doesn’t spare a single look for the food before he kneels down before her and hugs her.

“It’s okay,” Uncle James says. “It’s all right, Abena. It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Abena says into Uncle James’ shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmurs. “It’s not your fault.”

He isn’t crying, not quite. But he’s holding her just as tightly as she’s holding him.

The next morning, Thomas doesn’t wake up at all. His rattling breath is audible through the entire house. It’s the first thing Abena hears when she wakes in her cot in the main room, the harsh, dragging sound of one painful breath after another. 

Mama arrives that afternoon, like planned. Like planned, she stays and eats with them. 

“We’re not leaving tonight, are we, Mama?” Abena asks.

“No, sweetheart,” Mama says quietly. “We are not.”

Abena, huddled into her cot that night, listens to the low, faltering murmur of talk in the other room. There are long minutes of silence. Uncle James and Mama never talk very much, although they seem often to revolve around one another when they are in the same space. Abena knows better than to go inside and listen to their half-telepathic conversation.

Eventually, Mama comes to join her on the cot, the low bed creaking as Mama puts her arm around Abena. Usually, Abena might wriggle away, aching to prove how big she’s grown, to prove that she’s so much like her mother that she doesn’t even need mothering. But tonight, Abena presses into Mama, lets the callused heel of Mama’s hand rub against Abena’s shoulder.

“Thomas made this bed,” Abena whispers. She isn’t quite ready to sleep, not yet.

“I know,” Mama replies. “I asked him to.”

“Is he going to die?” Abena asks.

Mama heaves a sigh. “Yes,” she says plainly.

“That’s not fair,” Abena says. She feels tears sticking in her throat again. “Uncle James is going to be all alone.”

“He will not be alone,” Mama says. She kisses Abena’s head. “Will he?”

“I don’t know,” Abena mumbles. “But he shouldn’t have to lose Thomas.”

Mama hums thoughtfully. But she doesn’t say anything else, and eventually, Abena falls asleep.

Thomas is buried under the orange tree. Uncle James stands outside for two days. People come to pay their respects, pass him by, a pillar smaller but stronger than the great fruit tree.

On the third morning, Abena wakes early. Mama is breathing evenly beside her. Past the windowsill, Abena can see Uncle James, silhouetted in the dawn light.

She walks outside, past freshly-packed dirt, and takes Uncle James’ hand. He lets her.

“Come back home with us,” Abena says. 

Uncle James says nothing.

“You didn’t lose everything,” Abena says, looking up at him. He doesn’t look back at her, but he doesn’t let go of her hand.

So much time passes that Abena thinks he won’t respond. He has, after all, not spoken a word since Thomas passed. But then he clears his throat, and roughly, he says, “All right.”

The ship sets sail a few hours later, but Uncle James is not on it. The moment they get home, Abena runs to her bed and throws herself down on it. She cries the way she did not want anybody to see her crying on the ship. She feels strangely humiliated when she looks up to find Mama standing in the doorway, Baba at her back.

“Habibti.” Baba’s gentle voice, wracked with tenderness as it so often is. Baba has always been like that, so soft next to Mama and Uncle James. 

“Why didn’t he come?” she asks. “Why didn’t he come?”

Baba comes forward to sit on the bed. “Do you know how long they lived together?” he asks.

Abena looks up and rubs the tears from her eyes.

“Twenty-eight years, ya mama,” Baba says. 

It’s an absurd number. Over twice her lifespan. Abena tries to imagine that, two twelve year stretches of her life, put end to end. And still, all that would not capture the loss Uncle James has just felt.

“Twenty-eight,” Abena repeats. It’s all she can think of to say.

“Let him let it all go,” Baba says. He leans to kiss her forehead. “All in good time.”

Abena looks at Mama. “Would we be enough?” she asks. “To make up for Thomas?”

Mama sits down slowly, as if she is choosing her words carefully. “We are not making up for a loss,” she says. “Your Uncle James is letting go of a wonderful gift. Do you understand?”

“What’s the difference between letting go and losing?” Abena asks.

“I think you will see,” Mama says, and her voice is infinitely gentle. “When he comes back.”

Abena doesn’t know if she understands that. But Mama is already getting up. Baba is already patting her hand and telling her to come help with dinner. Already, life is seeming to tick onward. She sits pensively in her bed, trying to understand how that could possibly be.

“Ya Abena!” Baba shouts from the main room. “Come and help me now or wallahi I will burn your bread!” 

Days pass, and then weeks. And then, over a month after Thomas’ death, Uncle James appears on their doorstep. Mama embraces him without a word. Together, Baba and Uncle James carry a low, sturdy cot inside. They set it down in the main room, next to the big empty chair. 


	3. 1747

Receiving deference is not easy for Abena. Defiance has always been her favorite hobby, running away from Baba to climb trees and trade toys with the other children, shirking her studies in favor of going swimming, playing on the beach when she should have been helping with chores. 

But it takes the fire out of defiance when the person you are trying to defy bows their head and says yes, Princess Abena, if you want to spend the day swimming, just wait a few minutes for me to bring a bodyguard.

Princess. How odd to realize that this title belongs to her, and if she doesn’t want to disappoint Mama and Uncle James, she must learn to belong to the title.

So she learns. In the daytime, she follows Mama to work. She sits at Mama’s right hand, listens to the way she deals firmly with the complaints and conflicts of the people. Her favorite part, though, is when the captains from the fleet come home. They are like giants on Mama’s sea. They tower as they walk, shoulders thrown back, scarred hands and faces visible over salt-crusted, mismatched clothing. In fact, the only person on the entire island who these people do not dwarf is Mama.

Today, four of the fleet are landing. Abena jitters with excitement to see the sailors come ashore, wild and laughing. Some of them fall into the arms of spouses, some of them return to much back-clapping and laughter, and all are full of glee to be back to their city. Abena can see the celebration coming to life, people bringing out their drums and playing their flutes, the smell of cooking food and the tang of alcohol, and she wants to stay to take part.

But Mama is already making her way up to the meeting hall. Eme and Julius are trailing after her, and so are a few sailors. With one last look at her joyful community, Abena follows her mother inside.

Abena tries her best to pay attention to meetings like this. Usually, the captains are much less interesting than they appear, and spend hours talking about ledgers and profit margins and trading. But they do this so earnestly, paying such gracious attention to Mama and Abena, that Abena feels that she has to reciprocate.

She is, she thinks wryly, at least getting better at that part.

Twenty-four sailors have been lost, and sixteen recruits have replaced them. Lately, prizes have been turning and fighting. They have had trouble docking in Nassau, although their remaining contacts there are still strong, and the goods brought home are exactly what is needed. Abena doesn’t know why four hours were required just to say all that. She’s stiff and aching when the meeting finally concludes.

“One more thing,” one of the captains says. He is older, almost as old as Mama, and he looks at her like he’s familiar with her. “I need to speak with you.”

Everyone stills. The other captains exchange glances between them.

“Ehioze,” a woman captain says, genuine confusion furrowing her brow. “What-”

“You are dismissed,” Mama cuts in. “Go be with your men.”

Slowly, the captains and quartermasters file out. With a jerk of Mama’s head, the bodyguards leave, too.

Ehioze remains mute, his eyes flickering between Julius, Eme, and Abena. Abena juts her chin out, staring him down. 

“What does this concern?” Mama asks sharply.

Ehioze shifts uncomfortably. “The man who was once captain of the  _ Atlas,  _ my queen,” he says, his voice low.

Mama doesn’t look nervous. She never does. But when she speaks, her voice is clipped, and faintly higher than usual.

“Abena.”

“Mama?”

“Go home. Now.”

“Mama!” Abena whips around. “You can’t-”

“Abena!” Mama gives her a piercing look, and Abena falls quiet. Seething, she gets up quietly from her seat and ducks outside. For a moment, she considers eavesdropping, but then Eme comes outside.

“She made you leave too?” Abena asks.

Eme gives her an apologetic smile. “She sent me to make sure you did not linger.”

Abena glares, but Eme stands firm. Finally, Abena turns and storms off, down to the beach, where celebrations are going strong. If they won’t treat her like a princess, then she won’t act like one.

She’s being childish. She knows that. Once, she enjoyed it. But defiance seems hollow now that she is no longer a child. It is not very long before Abena returns home.

The main room is empty when Abena comes inside. Baba, she knows, is still at the celebration. She’d left him cheerful and singing, arm in arm with drunk sailors. She assumed Mama would come to the festivities after the meeting, but she can hear familiar voices in the bedroom.

“-not even certain it’s true. You have received reports like this before.” That’s Uncle James, a low, hard edge to his words. 

Abena stops dead in her tracks.

“We know he was alive three years ago.” Abena has never heard Mama like this, voice strained and nervous. “We have only heard old stories in the time since.”

“Do you want him to be dead?”

Silence. Abena wishes they would speak out loud like normal people, instead of their secret little conversations that are impossible to eavesdrop on. She inches closer to the doorway.

“We don’t know if he found himself a new crew after the  _ Hispaniola,”  _ Uncle James says. “All there is is speculation. These stories aren’t reliable. Some say he’s been dead for fifteen years, and the other half say he’s an immortal sea demon.”

“Do you want him to be alive?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Again, they fall silent. Abena wants to bang her head against the wall. She wishes one of them would say a name that she could investigate.

When Uncle James speaks again, it’s so soft Abena can hardly hear it, so tender she almost wishes she couldn’t. “Don’t get your hopes up, Madi. Either way.”

This is the end of the conversation. Or, at least, it is the end of the conversation that Abena can hear. She stands there for another ten minutes, but they don’t say another word.

Abena returns to the beach. The sun is sinking low now, but spirits are rising ever higher. She feels strangely distant from the merriment, although just last week she would have joined them shrieking with laughter. Such is the price of the crown, she supposes, the ever-deepening gap between herself and what she once was.


	4. 1753

Uncle James has a hard time moving, these days. The joints in his hands swell so badly he can barely tear his own bread. His knees falter when he stands. In the evenings, Baba has to pull Uncle James’ shirt down, rub a salve on an old, puckered scar on his left shoulder. This is the wound that bothers him the most. Some days, his left arm is almost useless.

“I never thought you could get so old,” Mama says sometimes. She curls into the big chair, by Uncle James’ cot, in the evenings. 

“Oh, my friend,” Uncle James replies. “You’re not so much younger than me anymore.”

“Ya Abena, close your books,” Baba says crossly. “Not at dinner.”

Abena looks up. She’s scratching around in the big ledger open on her lap. New shipments will be coming in in a few days. Supplies are running ever thinner lately, with European empires tightening their grip on the new world, and Abena has been spending half her time just trying to figure out how to keep the island supplied. But Baba holds onto these evenings, so Abena closes her ledger even as she talks back.

“It’s not dinner anymore,” Abena points out. “We’re done eating.”

Baba gives her a pained look from where he’s rubbing medicine into Uncle James’ shoulder. “Must you treat me so?”

“Of course she must,” Mama says, smiling. “That’s my daughter, Mahmoud.”

Baba stands up and wipes his oily hands on his trousers. Then he bends down to kiss Mama’s forehead. “I know she is.”

“Thank you,” Uncle James murmurs, pulling his shirt back up onto his shoulder. He leans back on his pillows, exhaling slowly.

Baba pats Uncle James’ right shoulder and then sits down next to Abena, leaning over and peering at her ledger. “Put it away, habibti.”

It’s a nice night. Uncle James doesn’t talk much, but it’s all right. He smiles sleepily when Baba cracks jokes, when Mama makes fun, when Abena gets carried away talking about politics and Baba has to remind her that this is family time. Mama is flush with wine, eyes sparkling, and Baba sings in a language that Abena has never quite mastered. The unfamiliar words are sweet, and Abena finds herself nodding to sleep.

In the morning, Uncle James does not wake up. His skin is cold, mottling gray. Smile lines are worn into his face, soft as stone.

The funeral is small and brief. Julius attends, lingers for several awkward minutes before nodding respectfully and taking his leave. Mama has to bring a cushion so she can sit before the grave, because her knees hurt her too much to sit on the bare ground.

“I will go get dinner ready,” Baba murmurs. “Come when you are ready, my love.” Mama doesn’t answer him. Finally, Baba starts making his way back. He doesn’t need a cane, not like Mama does, not like Uncle James did. He’s still strong, unencumbered by the creaking pains of an old pirate king.

So, then, it’s just the two of them, sitting side by side next to a plot of fresh turned dirt. It’s a short way away from town, under the greenery, the wet canopy of the rainy season. Uncle James’ grave marker looks just like the other markers nearby: small, unextravagant. Abena’s head aches from crying.

“Thirty seven years is a long time,” Mama says. She sighs. “I spent more of my life with him than without him.”

Abena stares at the grave. She has never quite been able to reconcile stories she knows to be true, stories of Uncle James’ past, his history with her mother, with the old man who she only ever knew as gentle. 

“I don’t think he ever expected to die like this,” Mama says.

“Like what?” Abena asks.

“In his sleep,” Mama says. “Just like anyone else.”

Abena feels a kind of chill at that, a fear of dying like anyone else. But Mama looks peaceful. Not happy, but peaceful.

“I miss him,” Abena admits quietly.

Mama puts an arm around her. Abena is a woman, twenty one years old, crown princess of her people, but she feels like a child now. She rests her head on Mama’s shoulder.

“I know, sweetheart,” Mama says. “I miss him too.” Her voice breaks, and then Mama is crying.

“Oh, Mama,” Abena says softly. She’s never seen her mother cry before, never in all her life. They sit pressed together for a long time. That evening, when it starts to rain, Abena has to help Mama back to the house. This late in the day, with the weather so poor, Mama’s joints hurt her too much to pick her way through the dense, damp forest.

Even a queen, Abena thinks with some surprise, is still an old, melancholy woman.


	5. 1760

Mama, once, had a powerful body. Even if Abena hadn’t heard endless tales from Mama’s fifteen years on the sea, she would know. Remnants of hard muscle under soft, wrinkled skin, countless scars from long-forgotten victories, hands tough and scarred even after years on land. 

That part of Mama is part of a glorious past. Her voice, still strong when she speaks in meetings, demands respect as it always has. But Mama’s arc of history is curving to its end, leaving a shining legacy, frozen in the past.

They have lost two more of their fleet in the last three years. Mama and Abena have called a meeting, and for perhaps the first time, the captains and quartermasters of the entire fleet are together on the island. The meeting will take place in three days’ time, giving the sailors time to rest and regroup.

It’s not enough time, Abena points out. Mama replies that they cannot afford to keep the entire fleet off the water for so long.

Baba makes dinner, singing to himself as he works. Mama and Abena are paying him no mind, bent over ledgers from the past six months in preparation for the meeting.

“When I led this fleet, it was twelve strong,” Mama says quietly. “Eight remain. What are we to do about that?”

“Times are changing, Mama,” Abena reminds her. “Piracy has been all but eradicated. Certainly, in the years since Nassau replaced its governor, our fleet has faced challenges. Not all of these challenges will be surmountable, especially with the Christian empires developing their influence on these continents.”

“They must be surmountable,” Mama says flatly. “Piracy has been woven into the fabric of this city. To tear it out now would weaken us, and in the eyes of the empires, would mark us incapable of defending ourselves. Or have you forgotten?”

“I have not,” Abena says, a little stung. “But I think it is time for us to shift our attention away from controlling the seas and towards maintaining connections with other camps. If we are to survive, we can no longer bait empires into trading shots on the water.”

Mama has always been a wartime queen, and Abena knows this will not be easy for her. Abena was raised on these stories, the great and terrible pirate king Madi, fierce on the high seas. But that time is past. There are no more pirate kings.

The meeting, three days later, lasts for hours. It does, after all, take a long time to disassemble a small navy, to reallocate resources and assign new jobs. It’s a relief to some on land, to finally receive in excess what they’ve been straining for, and a tragic end to others at sea, to have their life’s work concluded in such a way.

So it goes. The three most heavily armed ships remain active, sticking closely to predetermined routes, maintaining trade with half a dozen maroon communities. The rest are retired, their crews to melt into the city, their mates to serve as advisors or start families. There is one Mama has a particular fondness for, a young boatswain from a retired ship.

“You listen to that boy Adeniyi,” she tells Abena, for what must be the dozenth time. “I was just like him, at that age.”

“Okay, Mama,” Abena says. 

“No work talk as we eat,” Baba says sternly. Mama pats his hand.

“How many times have you tried to tell me that?” she asks.

“Far too many,” Baba grouches. 

“Poor Baba,” Abena says.

Mama kisses Baba’s cheek, a rare show of affection. “Yes,” she says. “Poor Baba.”

The end of the navy is the beginning of the end for Mama. It takes Abena a long time to realize this, but Mama’s body begins to fail not long after. Her mind is still sharp as ever, but within months, Mama can no longer get out of bed. Baba spends all his days and nights caring for Mama, but the three of them have seen enough death to know that Mama will never stand on her own again.

Abena comes home late today. She has been taking on much of the work of queen, with Mama ailing, although Mama still insists on being involved however she can. 

“Mama?” Abena calls. 

“In here, sweetheart!” Mama answers. “I don’t suppose I would be anywhere else, would I!”

“I suppose not,” Abena says, coming into Mama’s bedroom. “Where is Baba?”

“I asked him to leave,” Mama says. “Sit with me, Abena.”

“Leave where?” Abena asks. She puts her ledgers down and sits on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling, Mama?”

“Old,” Mama says. “I am feeling old.”

“There may be a reason for that,” Abena says.

Mama smiles. “Insolent girl,” she says.

Abena is glad to see Mama cheerful, but already her smile is fading. It is replaced by something hopelessly sad.

“My time is over,” Mama says. “I know that.” She sighs. “You will think me arrogant, but I did not ever think my reign would end. Not like this.”

“Do you mean the fleet?” Abena asks.

“So much discontent brewing in this world,” Mama says distantly. “I feel that mine has been left behind.”

“I’m not trying to leave you behind, Mama,” Abena says, a little desperately. She takes Mama’s hand. “Believe me, please. I only do what I think is best for our people.”

“Once, I was best for my people. Once, it was war that we needed.” Mama’s eyes focus, and she looks suddenly blazing and present, an echo of the war she speaks of. “You are right. There are no pirate kings anymore.” She relaxes against her pillows, and it looks horribly like giving up.

“Mama. No.” Abena squeezes Mama’s hand. “You are the greatest leader this island has ever had.”

“I was,” Mama corrects her. “I was. All that is in the past now, my love. And all this falls to you.”

It feels like Mama is saying goodbye. Unbidden, tears begin to burn in Abena’s throat. “I’m not ready, Mama,” she says. She knows she’s dangerously close to blubbering, but she doesn’t care. “I don’t want to let you go yet.”

“You have already let me go,” Mama says. Her voice breaks. “I am ready to go.”

Abena hugs Mama, and they stay like that for several long minutes. Abena takes a deep, bracing breath. Mama’s body is so fragile now.

“I love you,” Abena says into Mama’s shoulder. “Go when you are ready.”

It is not very long after this that Mama stops breathing. In death, she looks feather light, the weight of her great and terrible story lifted from her weakened body.

Queen Madi dies. Her story is passed through word of mouth, built into the structures on her island. It ends quite abruptly, but this is as it should be: a beginning, a middle, an end, an epic poem of a great woman, fixed in the past. 

There will be war again. It will not be fought by Mama.


	6. 1761

It is not really a surprise, how quickly Baba deteriorates. He putters about the house, making Abena’s dinners like he always has, until he can’t anymore. He sings lullabies, slow songs in the night, until he can’t anymore. He goes out for walks with his old friends, until he can’t anymore. He lives until he can’t anymore. He fades, lying in the big bed he shared with Mama for almost thirty years, as though he wasn’t ever meant to be here without her.

It takes Baba a long time to die. It begins the moment Mama’s heart stops beating, accelerates when Princess Abena becomes Queen, and eight months on, there is very little left of him. He drifts gray and silent and thin as an ailing songbird.

Her advisor asks her almost every day if she wants to take time off to be with her father. 

“No,” Abena says, each time. “You know what I will say, Adeniyi, always. Why do you continue to ask?”

“No disobedience intended, my Queen,” Adeniyi says, with a tone of voice that says he absolutely intends to be disobedient.

Abena sits back in her chair. The meeting hall is empty now, but the air is still stinging with the memory of today’s events. They’ve lost another ship.

“Abena,” Adeniyi says, softer now. “You will regret it if you don’t take all the time with him that you can.”

“I know,” Abena snaps. “Fuck, Adeniyi, I know. All right? My God. I haven’t been doing this for a year yet, and already people are clamoring for me to take time off.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Adeniyi says, stubbornly gentle. “You are a good queen.”

Abena lets out a gasp of a laugh. “After the greatest one any of these people has ever known? How do I be someone without her?”

“You are not Queen Madi,” Adeniyi reminds her. “And that is not a bad thing. You are not made of wood, and that is a good thing. Be with your father, Abena.”

He looks earnestly at her, and Abena feels herself fold.

“All right,” she whispers. “All right.”

Baba is lucid today, even notices that she’s home unusually early. His smile is not so bright anymore, not so easy, but it’s real.

“Habibti,” he says. “My love, my life. What the hell are you doing back so early?”

“I wanted to help you make dinner,” Abena replies.

He doesn’t believe her, but he lets her help. They eat together, and it feels almost like old times. It is, of course, nothing like old times, not without Mama, but for a while, they can pretend.

“Do you know what I am called here?” Baba asks her, abruptly. They are almost finished eating, and they are, it seems, finished pretending.

“What do you mean here?” Abena says. “This island?”

Baba smiles. “Yes,” he says. “I haven’t left it in thirty years, you know.”

Abena can’t imagine that. Since childhood, she has been making trips to other maroon camps, been party to decisions that influence communities across the New World. Never has her life been defined as just one city, one house. One person.

“I am Abu Abena,” Baba says. “You know what that means?”

Abena has never really grasped Arabic, but she’s heard this before. “Yes,” she says. “My father.”

Baba nods slowly. “Before you, I was Ibn Mazaa,” he says. “After you, I was Abu Abena. Always, I am Madi’s husband.”

“Baba,” Abena says, fumbling. “You are your own man.”

“I never have been.” Baba says this so tenderly that Abena can’t bring herself to deny him again. “I love you. I love your mother. That has always been enough for me.”

He isn’t physically frail, not like Mama or Uncle James in their final months. But after the evening meal, his eyes cloud, and he keeps saying Mama’s name, confused and sad. Abena puts him to bed. He falls asleep with his arm stretching across Mama’s pillow.

Baba doesn’t cling to life. Ten months after Mama dies, Baba follows her happily. He leaves little behind, some clothing, a few books, the big marriage bed. Little, that is, besides his daughter the queen, who carries a forty-five year legacy on her back.

Abena carries it gently. She smiles like her mother, sings like her father, hopes like her uncle. She loves like all the people she came from. This love does not make it easier to carry such a legacy, and she understands why Baba never tried. But she carries it, gently, stubbornly, a woman all her own, made from the love of dead pirate kings.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @piratemadi on tumblr


End file.
